


Brand New Year, Coming Up Ahead

by Chash



Series: Miss Atomic Bomb [26]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8864287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: George and Alanna are hosting Christmas for the first time. Which would be fine, if Alanna didn't want to cook.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [smoothiesong](http://smoothiesong.tumblr.com/)!

“You couldn’t even try to be sympathetic?”

George weighs the question, gives it all due consideration. He takes in the kitchen, covered in flour and powdered sugar, and Alanna, just as covered in both, scowling under the apron which did absolutely nothing to protect her from her own incompetence at baking.

“I tried,” he finally says. “Thought about it as hard as I could. But, darlin’, I’m comin’ up empty.”

Alanna’s scowl deepens, and his schools his own face so he won’t smile too much. Not that he takes undue pleasure in his girlfriend’s suffering, but–he likes to think he takes just the right amount.

And she brought this on herself.

“You could at least _help_ ,” she grumbles.

“I walked in and found you’d decided to try bakin’ without me. If you’d asked first, I would have advised against it. What were you tryin’ for?”

“Cookies.”

He nods, crosses to inspect the bowl, which looks like someone put an explosive device into it. “When’d it go wrong?”

“I was trying to use the mixer.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding again. “And that’s when all the dry ingredients flew up out of the bowl and into the kitchen?” He looks around, whistles, low. “Honestly, I’m most impressed you put this much flour and sugar in. Were you tryin’ to make the biggest mess you could?”

“I was trying to double the recipe. Are you going to help or not? If Christmas goes badly, it’s going to reflect on you too.”

“Is it? It was your idea to host when Ma said she was goin’ out of town. I didn’t say a word about it.”

“It’s your apartment too. And _you’re_ the one who started inviting everyone over for Christmas, so that’s your fault.”

He clucks his tongue. “I suppose it is at that. And I suppose that’s why I thought you’d wait for me before you started tryin’ to do anything too complicated.”

“It’s _baking_ , Alanna mutters. “I thought I could bake! It’s just measuring things.”

“And I’m sure you measured everything perfectly,” George says, kissing her temple. “It was the combinin’ where it fell apart.” He leans over the bowl, nods. “Where’s your recipe?”

“On my phone. Which is also covered in flour.”

He shakes his head. “Well, it’s a good thing I came back when I did, then. Let’s see what we can do.”

*

George doesn’t mind hosting all their friends for Christmas. Ma is out of town, visiting her cousins, and he’s just as glad to not be going. It would’ve been a pain to do it in the apartment, but the Dove is closed on Christmas day anyway, so it isn’t so hard to bring everyone over there.

At least, bringing everyone over isn’t the hard part. But the cooking is more than he thought it would be. Mostly because Alanna is _invested_. Mostly, it doesn’t bother her, because cooking isn’t one of the things she believes she should be good at. She’s happy to be a bad cook and let him pick up the slack.

But she’s not happy to be a bad hostess, and if they don’t have a literal Christmas feast, she seems to think she will be.

He’s never letting Ma travel for the holidays again.

“You know we don’t need to make all this food, don’t you?” he asks her. “Even Ma would look at this list and think it was too much.”

“Also, he’s being incredibly generous in his use of _we_ ,” Rikash says. “He and I are doing most of the work.”

“That’s no one’s fault but your own,” George points out, in the interest of fairness. “We didn’t even ask you.”

“You told me she was cooking,” he retorts. “That’s a cry for help if I ever heard one.”

“It is not,” Alanna mutters, and George squeezes her shoulder.

“Think of it like a battle,” he says. “Rikash and me, we’re your foot soldiers. You’re the general. You’re better at the coordinatin’ and plannin’, you don’t belong in the trenches.”

“Ma always lets me help.”

“His ma is too nice for her own good,” says Rikash. “And if you’re a general, she’s an admiral. Her skill at using her resources is unparalleled.” He smirks. “Meaning she knows where to put you to minimize damage.”

“You’re getting coal for Christmas,” says Alanna, and Rikash puckers his lips at her.

“Fascinatin’ as this is, we’re wastin’ time,” says George. “Now, do you want to argue with Rikash about how you can do this by yourself, or do you want to tell us what needs cooking and get it done?”

“I’m going to do _something_ ,” she says, scowling at the universe at large. “But for now, aprons on, hands washed?”

George and Rikash obediently show her their aprons and hands; he’s not sure how they both do it so instinctively, but it always makes him smile. He did the right thing, hiring Rikash.

Alanna nods, grave. “Let’s cook, then.”

*

“I brought a case of sparkling cider,” says Jon. He has it hoisted onto his shoulder, like he’s carted it for a great distance.

“You know there’s no point in drinking non-alcoholic beverages in the same quantity you drank alcoholic ones, don’t you?” asks Thayet. She sounds genuinely concerned he’s not aware. It’s a concern George will admit to sharing. Giving up alcohol in solidarity with Raoul is mostly good for Jon, but he is having trouble getting used to parties.

“The point is getting diabetes and dying,” says Jon. “At which I’m _excelling_.”

“He doesn’t have diabetes,” says Raoul, like he has to tell people this often. Dating Jon Conte must be _exhausting_. “We also brought wine. But much less.”

“We’re at a _bar_. They have their own wine. I bet they don’t have any sparkling cider at all.”

“I hate to say he’s right, but he is,” says George. “Come on in, you can get settled. Alanna’s pickin’ up Daine and Numair, and Thom and Rikash are on their way once Thom finishes–whatever he had to finish on his video game.” He smirks at Jon. “Might be the first time you’re ever earliest to a party.”

“Something to celebrate with sparkling cider,” he agrees. “Let’s break open the crates.”

George doesn’t tend to drink much these days, so he gets wine for Thayet and Buri and joins Jon and Raoul in having the cider. They chat about jobs and TV shows, and while he does miss his ma, there’s something that feels oddly grown up about hosting the holidays themselves, with no parents involved.

Not that he should need anything to make him feel like a grown up, at thirty. But he likes it, all the same.

Thom and Rikash arrive next, and that’s when he starts getting suspicious. Alanna went over to Daine and Numair’s early to help Daine with some Christmas presents, and he hadn’t thought anything of it. Christmas is, after all, the season of thin excuses to leave the house in order to buy things for your significant other. Just because she already gave him some presents doesn’t mean there’s nothing else in store.

But they’re really running pretty late. Especially for them. It’s uncommon for _anyone_ to be later than Thom and Rikash, let alone Daine. Daine likes to be on time.

“You hear anything from your sister?” he asks Thom.

“Text message twenty minutes ago: _Will be late, if George gets suspicious, distract him_ ,” he says.

“Doin’ a real good job with that one,” he says, and Thom shrugs.

“I don’t want to encourage this kind of behavior. If I do what she asks, she’ll start asking for more and larger favors. It’s important to cut these things off before they get out of control. So, she’s up to something. Good instincts. Those will take you far.”

“Always glad to have your approval.” He sighs. “If she’s textin’ you, I doubt there’s any problems. Might as well just wait and see.”

They’re playing one of the games Thom brought when the rest of their party finally arrives, windblown, red-cheeked, and snow-caked, with an absolutely hideous gingerbread house.

Alanna deposits it on the table between George and Rikash with a triumphant, “There!”

“Congratulations,” says Rikash, without missing a beat. “You’ve created a monster.”

“Yes,” says Alanna, apparently unperturbed. “But _I_ created it.”

“We just supervised,” Daine says.

“I’m fairly confident nothing in there is fatal, and that the combination of ingredients could not cause anything worse than mild food poisoning if consumed,” says Numair. “That being said, I have not yet eaten it and have no plans to.”

“Isn’t gingerbread really more of a decoration, anyway?” George asks. He loves and supports Alanna in everything she does, but–he doesn’t want to spend his Christmas sick from her horrifying concoction.

“It’s not really for eating,” Alanna says, to his relief. “But I still baked it.”

“You did,” George agrees. “And you decorated it. None of us can take that away from you. But let’s just leave it on the table and eat the real food, yeah?”

Rikash drags Thom off to get the actual meal, which Rikash has been fretting over almost as much as Alanna has, because for all he likes to pretend he doesn’t care, he takes a truly heartwarming amount of pride in his work.

Not as much as Alanna takes in her gingerbread house, of course, but there’s still plenty of pride to go around. Buri and Thayet brought Christmas crackers and Jon insists on playing a non-alcoholic drinking game, and George isn’t ashamed to say the whole thing fills him with a warm and fuzzy feeling of Christmas love.

Nothing more than Alanna’s ugly, poisonous gingerbread house.

“I’m goin’ to keep it forever,” he tells her, once he’s put it in a place of pride on the bar. “Numair’s gotta know a way to preserve it.”

“I’m sure.” She smiles, smug. “I told you I could do it.”

“Hey, come on, now. You know I think you can do anything.”

“Good,” she says, smug. “Because I’m going to do even better next year. Something no one’s afraid to eat.”

“Dream big, darlin’,” he says, and leans down to kiss her before she can protest. “I’m sure you will.”

*

It’s actually two years before she manages cookies anyone other than him is willing to eat, but really, who’s counting?

He knew she’d get there in the end.


End file.
